


nothing shall be forbidden us (all bars shall fall before us)

by weird_bird (2weird4)



Series: more than luck [2]
Category: Batwoman (Comic), DCU (Comics), The Question (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Marriage Proposal, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9678431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2weird4/pseuds/weird_bird
Summary: You don’t even really know what rose gold is. All you know is that it’s got a fire inside like Kate’s.What will it be like to know it’s on her lovely long finger even under her glove? What will it be like to make such a public declaration of something so private? You’re scared. You want to know.Renee proposes to Kate. Prequel to part 1, though reading part 1 isn't necessary to understand this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from the poem ["symmetrical companion"](http://busy-nothings.blogspot.com/2006/01/symmetrical-companion.html) by may swenson, which i think is an amazing katerenee poem.
> 
> genre is angst/fluff/humor/character study/?. happy valentine's day and femslash february lmao
> 
>  **warnings:** discussions of homophobia (rejection by family, forced outing, heteronormativity, mention of slurs, allusion to gay bashing) and racism (police discrimination), sexual references, mild action/violence, non-graphic injury, some language.

When you thought about coming out at home, this was the best you hoped for:

You tell your family, and they pretend they don’t hear.

When you thought about coming out at home, this was the worst you feared:

You tell your family, and they pretend they don’t know you.

Instead, a man flips a coin and takes your choice.

No dignity, no privacy. And you don’t get to walk away first. 

Maybe you could console yourself if you thought you could have never seen this coming, yet you’ve always seen ahead. You know the signs. You know when to jump.

And you know sometimes life shakes the tree and you fall out.

 

Being the Question feels a lot less stupid and a lot more like a big deal when it’s _Batwoman and_ the Question. 

You still don’t quite have the hang of all this rooftop jumping, though. Your heels, wear-worn, skid a bit too much. You’re thinking maybe you should have taken Oracle up on that offer of better equipment.

Kate did. She’s got sturdier boots now, a reinforced cape, fancy stuff in her lenses. Your high-tech girlfriend.

It’s not that Kate’s any less independent than you. It’s just that she’s starting to come around to not being a solo act, while you’re not so sure you want to rub elbows with anyone else but Kate in the long-term. 

As you both charge headlong into the action, you consider wryly whether that’s just because you want to rub other things with Kate.

Then again, she’s also an _amazing_ fighter. 

You train together some early mornings after you spend the night at hers, and you remember the shock that judders through your arm when you block her punches. The rolling muscle playful snarling power of her when you hold her down on the mats.

There’s a flash in the dark. _Knife._ Before the man can finish his lunge at Kate, you kick it out of his hand and hit him in the solar plexus. “Where’s the box?”

The man’s too winded to answer, and you drop him with a snort. 

“Here, Question.” Kate sweeps her wig out of the way and uses some handy little something from her belt to pry open the crate.

You whistle, hands on hips, at the tangle of explosives inside. “How are we transporting this, again?”

Before you can think about that, you’ve got intermediate concerns.

About a dozen of them, when a bunch more of Black Mask’s goons burst into the room.

Pushing the box to the wall, you put your back to it and stand your ground. It’s getting dicier by the minute when Kate says, “I’m going to try something. Trust me.”

Trust me, she says. “Yep.” Easier to get out right now than absolutely, always, with my life, with my soul when you make me believe in it.

“When I say duck, duck.”

“Just do it,” you shout. Grabbing the knife from the ground, you clench it tight in your hand.

Tiny ball flung out into the crowd by Kate’s gloved hand. Seeing it, the men pause and stagger backwards.

Kate throws up her cape.

Crossing yourself, a reflex you didn't know you still had, you brace for impact.

If this is the way you go, this is the way you go, wearing a motheaten hat and holding the hand of the most unbelievable woman you’ve ever met.

The explosion never comes.

You exhale hard. Your adrenalin ebbs into irritation. “What, Oracle’s handing out dummy explosives now?” 

Kate smirks in shimmering scarlet. “If you ask nicely.”

Your stunned silence must only increase her satisfaction. Scoffing, you tip your forehead against hers. 

The bridge of Kate’s nose under her mask brushes against your featureless face. She’s up against your back in your own pocket of shadow.

Catching her cheek, you press your covered mouth to the side of her lips. Then you stare her down very intensely, though she can’t see your eyes. “Don’t do that again.”

“That’s it for tonight,” she promises, laugh locked in with audible effort.

“Come on,” you say, shaking your head. “Let’s get moving before they cotton on.”

“‘Cotton on,’” Kate mocks as she grabs one end of the box.

“You know what--” You grunt as you lift the other. “I don’t wanna hear a word out of you.”

“How long are you going to hold it against me?” Her voice is like the lash of silk on your skin. You refuse to give in quite so easy, glad your mask hides your smile.

“As long as I want. Pick up those boots, Batwoman.”

You’ve suspected for a while, longer than you’ll tell her or even yourself.

But that’s when you know.

 

On a level more intellectual than emotional, you sometimes wondered what you were doing with Kate.

She’s got to be one of the palest people you’ve ever met, white skin shining in the night, while you get funny looks from cops in other cities.

None of it means you don’t love your brown, though, and you won’t let anybody tell you different.

Catholic’s all seeped down in your bones whether you want it or not; Kate’s Jewish to the core. You’ve always adored Batwoman’s red. You called it her color, and she turned around and told you about _Gevurah_ , strength, severity, _the left arm of God._

There’s this giant part of Kate you’re never going to get, and that’s only one of many things about her that intimidated you.

One day you joke about Kate maybe wanting _a nice Jewish girl_ and, not happy about it, she fires back, _what about a nice girl to make you mangú for breakfast?_

That shuts you up, and you feel like a heel until she finds you later, puts her hand in yours, and mumbles in your ear, _I feel like the first mistake we both made there is assuming either of us want a nice girl._

 

“Where are you going?” 

Shit. Caught out.

Kate’s green eyes are alert as ever as she stretches an arm behind her buzzed head, a peek of matching red fuzz poking out from under it.

And as always, you want to slide right back in bed beside her. But you’re a woman with a mission today.

Kate woke up at five AM--she doesn’t even need to set an alarm anymore, that’s how automatic it is--and you’re the one who coaxed her back to sleep.

Moving back to the bed, you rub your hand across the top of her head and kiss her between her frowning brows. “Shopping. It’ll get crowded later.” Not totally a lie.

“Hm.” Kate hunkers down in the sheets, eyeing you. Seems she doesn’t believe you, just willing to let this one go. “Grocery list on the fridge. Don’t do anything that’ll get you arrested.”

“I’m a cop, they can’t arrest me.” You throw on the leather jacket she bought you and you love more than any other clothing you’ve ever owned, run a hand through your hair, and leave with butterflies banging around your belly.

One of the first times you slept together, Kate had a thin chain spilling over her collarbones, which you know because you couldn’t stop kissing her there. 

She likes simple. She wears _expensive,_ though.

You’ve been scrimping and scooping money. It’s not enough. It’ll have to be.

You feel as out of place looking down at the spotless display cases as you thought you would. Hands in pockets, you force it down and remember Kate’s pulse under your hand, remember why you’re doing this.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Least it wasn’t ‘sir’ this time. That’s always awkward.

White woman, round face, sensible glasses. Means no harm, you can tell. “We’ve just gotten in some watches that are perfect for anniversaries.”

Watches. Well. You do like watches. Wouldn’t buy one in gold. “I’m looking for engagement rings, actually,” you say bluntly.

Blinking, she takes off her glasses and wipes the dust off of them. “Ah, I’m sorry. I can show you a selection…”

She’s not bad at picking them out. Better than you, anyway. You choose a handful you like and then pore puzzledly over them.

You can’t afford your favorite. Your stomach’s the only thing tying knots anytime soon.

Then she shows you a slim band in rose gold.

You don’t even really know what rose gold is. All you know is that it’s got a fire inside like Kate’s. 

What will it be like to know it’s on her lovely long finger even under her glove? What will it be like to make such a public declaration of something so private? You’re scared. You want to know.

It’ll cut considerably into your budget, but you can take this ring home with you today. 

You can put the unsure world in your pocket like a sure thing.

 

The impulse hits: propose. The second impulse: call Benny.

You don’t know which one’s stupider.

You also consider telling Jacob. Jacob and Kate’s relationship seems anomalous to you. You’ve got military in your family and you could trust them to be the first with the f-word.

And where you come from, you don’t _talk_ about this stuff, and not to your dad.

With Benny, you got lucky. He doesn’t get it. Doesn’t want to chatter about it. But he doesn’t _hate_ it.

But Kate complains about anti-LGBT rulings to Jacob over breakfast. According to Kate, he ribs her about you now that you’re back together. Drove her to Pride when she was a teenager.

None of that feels like real life.

Real life to you was stealing a couple kisses with Jenny who tasted like bubblegum behind the baseball field in the crappy public park. Real life was not meeting her eyes in your history class the next morning, where you read about Rosa Parks but not Storme DeLarverie.

Sometimes real life was also watching CNN reports on the slow creep towards the legalization of marriage, or dancing in gay bars once you moved out, or letting a butch put her arm around your shoulders in gentrified Gotham. 

You stuck out the hard times, kept your mouth shut when it was smart to, and knew it wouldn't always be like this.

Even as a girl, you sat in the old cathedral where the stained glass windows made patterns on your horrible lace dress and you knew whatever they said, you were you.

Ultimately, your business is your business, and you don’t regret not getting your teeth knocked out for making some kind of symbolic stand, though you do respect Kate a hundred times over for what she did.

You are making a stand now, which is new, and you’re still figuring out.

So you debate going to Jacob. That seems archaic, though. Asking the father if you can marry his daughter. You'll talk to him if you get your answer.

So first, _your_ family.

Once, after you and Kate had been together a handful of times, you called Benny. Told him about a woman who made you feel things you didn’t know anybody could feel. Made you laugh and ache just as much.

He didn’t say much in his soft voice. A lot of ‘okays,’ you remember. You don’t speak often, and if you’d been sober, you wouldn’t have chosen that conversation to be one of the few you had.

You’ve been sober for two years and counting when you phone the day after Batwoman and the Question busted that explosives case and you tell him, “You probably don’t remember, but--you remember that woman I told you about? The one--”

“I remember,” he interrupts quietly.

“Ah.” Your tongue’s heavy in your mouth. Looking down at your feet, you say, “I’m gonna ask her to marry me.”

More silence on his end. “I changed my address. I’ll give it to you.”

You gulp back another useless sound. 

“Don’t want the wedding invitation to get lost, right?” All the noise around him can’t break up the warm wrapped around his words.

Your hand comes up to your throat. “She hasn’t said yes yet.”

“That’s no way to talk,” Benny chides, and he sounds so much like your mother, so much like her. “Listen, it’s too loud. I’ll call you. I’ll call tomorrow. ¿Está bien?”

“Está bien.” That’s what you said in your family, even if _bien_ doesn’t come anywhere close to what you feel. You clap a hand over your mouth. “I love you,” you choke out.

“Renita,” he says gently, startled because he was always the one who cried on you when you were kids and you were the one with the strong jaw. 

Today you sob down the line and he raises his voice above the din to say _te quiero_ to you like he never once doubted it and you shouldn’t have, either.

 

You got a bullet in your gut. Sometimes that’s just how it goes.

“They didn’t let me into your room,” Kate frets. Leaning in close, she fixes the dressing around your abdomen.

“It ended up being okay.” You catch her fingers and press her knuckles to your lips, turn your head and kiss her cheek too. There’s nothing better for the pain. “ _I’m_ okay.”

“You almost got shot in the stomach.” Kate rubs your shoulder and then gets up off the bed again, staring out the window with arms crossed. The brooding’s kind of hot, but you’d rather cuddle.

“Think it’s more like--I got shot, almost in the stomach.” Elbows on your knees, you watch her.

She doesn’t grace your flippancy with your response. “They should have let me in,” she repeats.

“You did get inside eventually,” you point out as you scoot back on the sheets, trying to lie down without ripping open your stitches.

“Yeah, after I bribed them,” Kate exclaims.

You blink at the ceiling and then push up on your elbows to stare. “You bribed them?”

“Look…” She rubs her forehead with her fingers. “I had to.” Yeah, it’s Gotham.

“I’m not mad,” you assure her, holding back a laugh that would hurt way more than it’s worth. “Wow. They really must have given me the good stuff.” You squeeze your biceps and exhale. “So what you’re saying is that you don’t want to have to bribe people to get into my hospital room.”

“What if it happens next time? What if there needs to be a decision made about you--and Benny’s overseas, we need--”

“Kate.”

“I can’t do that again, Renee. I cannot. Something needs to change.”

“Kate.”

“You should be on my health insurance.” Kate faces you, eyes hard as jade, and she’s ranting, and you’re no longer listening, because you’ve heard all you need to hear.

_”Katie.”_

She stops when she sees you. “Renee! What are you doing? Get back in bed.” 

You’re half-out, fumbling in the nightstand drawer under tons of junk. Both feet on the ground, you lurch towards Kate and more or less collapse onto one knee.

Tears brim in her eyes. Nothing like stone in them now. 

You open the little red velvet box. 

When she sees the ring, her eyes _glow._

“Kate--” With quavering fingers, you nearly drop it. Your face splits into a terrified grin. “Will you put me on your health insurance?”


End file.
